


Five Times Sherlock Almost Confessed How He Felt and One Time He Actually Did

by LucoLoco



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pining Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 04:41:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2256231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucoLoco/pseuds/LucoLoco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock comes close to confessing how he feels about Lestrade several times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Sherlock Almost Confessed How He Felt and One Time He Actually Did

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill for the bonus round boost for Rare Pair Bingo

(1)

The first time Sherlock almost confessed, it was almost an accident. 

He and John were called in to help out on a case, which he thought "just barely qualified as a 7."

Sherlock was in the victim's living room having just spouted off a string of deductions that ultimately placed the victim's brother at the scene of the murder. When he finished, he looked towards John for approval. John was standing there, smirking and fascinated. That's when Sherlock heard, "You done trying to impress your boyfriend?"

_Anderson._

Sherlock's mouth twitched to tear him down before he stopped himself.

Luckily, John decided to assert his heterosexuality, covering up the fact that Sherlock had nothing to say. Well, not _nothing_. In fact, he had something ready to come out, but it was the last thing he wanted Anderson, or anyone, to hear:

_Please, John's not my boyfriend. Maybe you should be more observant asI'm more interested in Lestrade—_

It was set up as an insult, but reviewing it, he knew it wouldn't be seen as one.

Sherlock chalked the almost-mistake up to a mental mixup, his mind had been moving so fast ready to come up with an insult that it picked up something he had kept in the back of his mind (though he wouldn't admit even to himself that before this "incident", the thought had been popping into his head more often).

Either way, that had been a close call, especially considering the man was in the room and would have heard it. And who knew how everybody in the room would react. He knew that it wouldn't be positive, he just wasn't sure how bad the response would be.

Having decided that he'd helped Lestrade out enough, Sherlock declared his departure and called after John to follow. He gave a simple nod and a "you know where to find me," and left.

When he got back to the flat, he decided to ignore whatever it was, and by evening, Sherlock had moved onto an experiment he was conducting and forgot all about his earlier mental slip up.

-

(2)

“It’s a shame you insist you’re not interested in John.”

Sherock sighed. Mrs. Hudson would never stop pushing the subject, would she?

“It’s just I wish you would find someone for yourself, Sherlock.”

“I don’t need anyone,” Sherlock said. It was a reflex at this point with her.

“I suppose, but you and John get along so well. Why won’t you consider it, Sherlock?”

“Even if I were interested in John in that fashion, he has established that he is heterosexual. And he’s established this to you many times if I remember correctly.”

“He is awfully defensive.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. She’d never dropped this. Sherlock really had no interest in _persuading_ John into being gay or bi or pan anyway.

“I just think you and John would get on so well. You already do.”

Sherlock went to speak but bit down on his tongue as the thought, ‘ _But John is not the one I want’_ and the image of a certain silver-haired man filled his head. He took a deep breath.

Rather than respond, Sherlock simply changed the subject.

“I must be going Mrs. Hudson. Experiments to monitor, cases to be solved, things to be done in general,” Sherlock said before exiting her flat in a rush.

Mrs. Hudson sat in her kitchen shaking her head. She didn’t know enough about Sherlock’s situation, but she knew Sherlock well enough to know he was hiding something, not only from her, but from himself.

-

(3)

Sherlock, John, and Lestrade were standing in an alley looking at the body of their 28 year old victim. Sherlock eyed the body, looking around to see if there was anything significant surrounding it. He then crouched down to get a closer look. Suddenly, John's phone went off. John took a look and cleared his throat.

"Ah, I've gotta take this call, sorry."

He walked out of the alleyway, leaving Lestrade and Sherlock. Lestrade was still standing while Sherlock was now carefully observing the victim's hands.

"Can I ask you something?" Lestrade asked suddenly.

"You see I'm busy," Sherlock snapped.

Lestrade sniffed. "I know, it's just, I want to say this before I forget to, you're usually off when you finish up here."

Sherlock huffed. Then he conceded, anything to get Lestrade to let him continue his examination of the scene.

"I just think… you know, you should probably make your move soon…"

"My what?"

"John's not gonna be single forever, one day there's gonna be someone who can put up with your crap."

Sherlock looked over his shoulder at Lestrade.

_I don't like John like that. I like you. You're someone who puts up with my crap._

"You, too, Lestrade? I assure you, I have no romantic feelings for John, he's a valued companion and friend."

Lestrade shrugged. "If you say so, Sherlock. Just remember, one day it'll be too late."

Sherlock turned back toward the body.

_I can't be too late, I never had a chance, you were taken before I knew how much you'd mean to me, before I even met you._

"I'll keep that in mind Lestrade."

-

(4)

Sherlock knew what had to be done.

He stood as he watched blood flow from Moriarty’s head. He had no choice. Fake his own death.

Sherlock called John. Had to make sure he was looking.

Now they were talking to each other on the phone, Sherlock watching from atop the building.

John was panicked, desperate to get him off the roof, but Sherlock knew it had to be done. He wish it hadn’t, but he needed John to see.

Still, as Sherlock stood there, waiting for the time when he could actually jump, he thought about leaving John a message to relay.

A simple, “Tell Lestrade I always loved him. Tell him he meant more to me than he knew.”

Could he do that to Lestrade though? Could he make John that messenger?

He decided that he would not. He was determined to come back, and when he came back, he would tell Lestrade himself. That he would use that to motivate himself through dark times. Getting to see Lestrade again.

(5)

He expected a punch to the face. He expected a beating of some sort. Hell, he expected being berated and scolded and yelled at for what he did. Possibly being told to never see him again.

What Sherlock did not expect was for Lestrade to envelop him in a hug.

Sherlock let Lestrade hug him for as long as he needed, even when it was getting uncomfortable.

 _I came back for you, you know_ was on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t get it out. Sherlock didn’t understand. After all, one of the things he thought of when times got tough were of finally getting to tell Lestrade how he felt when he finally saw him.

**_Fear_.**

_Fear of what?_ Sherlock thought.

**_Afraid that you thought of those things for nothing. You came back from the dead with the thoughts of loving him and being with him. You would probably die for real if you found out that he never loved you back._**

_He’s hugging me, though. Does not mean something?_

**_It does not mean he loves you. It means he missed you. Friends miss friends. That is what you are._**

_I—_

Lestrade let go and looked Sherlock in the eyes. Sherlock stared back. He could say it.

 _I love you_.

He was right there. All Sherlock had to do was open his mouth and say those three words.

But.

He nodded and that was it.

Sherlock would later berate himself for not taking the chance, the chance he fought for, that he avoided death to get. Instead, they carried on as if nothing had changed.

(+1)

They were standing alone in Lestrade’s office when Sherlock told Lestrade about the snipers. They were discussing a case and Lestrade was being particularly hard on himself for a mistake he made in observing the crime scene that set them back. Sherlock was having a hard time listening to him talk so poorly about himself.

“What good am I if I have to rely on you constantly to clean up after my mistakes?”

“Lestrade, most people would make those mistakes, it’s not just you.”

“No, Sherlock, I made some bad judgment calls and now we pay that price. I’m so fucking useless.”

“You’re not useless Lestrade, you made a mistake. It’s fixable.” Sherlock didn't know what else to say to get Lestrade to calm down.

“That’s easy for you to say Sherlock. You would have known what to do if I had let you on in the first place. I don’t know why you even bother with me besides the cases. You could work with someone who would be better for you, who wouldn’t call you on every single thing that throws them off. I should just—“

“Stop right now!” Sherlock bellowed. Lestrade stopped, scared almost. “You are not useless or stupid. I do not want to work with anyone else but you.”

Lestrade stared at Sherlock.

“What?”

“I do not want to work with anyone else. I want to work with you and only you.” Sherlock paused. What he said next he did not mean to say:

“I jumped for you.”

“What? Jumped for me?” Lestrade was confused at first, but then processed what Sherlock said. “You mean, when you jumped and left for two years?” He got angry immediately and starting shouting. “How could that have been for me? I was miserable without you. Why would I want you to do that?”

“You were going to die if I didn’t!” Sherlock shouted right back.

There was a long pause between them.

“Die?” Lestrade eventually asked weakly, anger already drained from him.

“That day, Moriarty had snipers on John, Mrs. Hudson, and you. If I didn’t jump, he was going to kill you,” Sherlock explained.

“I don’t understand.”

“He wanted me to jump and he used your imminent deaths to motivate me. Of course I wasn’t going to let him do it.”

“But… why me? I can see John and Mrs. Hudson, but why was I a target?”

Sherlock swallowed. It hurt that Lestrade didn’t think he was important to him in anyway, and that even being told that his death was used as a threat, Lestrade couldn’t believe it. Sherlock needed Lestrade to know.

“Because he knew I was—“ Sherlock swallowed again and corrected himself. “—am in love with you.”

Lestrade’s eyes widened.

“No, you and John—“

“There was never anything between me and John. We’re close friends, and I would die for him, too, but I do not feel that way about him. But you…”

“But… you _love_ me. Why?”

Sherlock did not know what had happened to Lestrade to kill his self-esteem, but he did not understand how Lestrade couldn’t see how good of a person he was.

“Lestrade, you have done so much for me since you’ve known me and that alone makes you worthy of anyone’s good attention.You are a kind, patient man, you’d have to be to deal with me. You care a lot about the things and people you get involved with. You try to see good in people who may not deserve it, and in general you’re a pleasure to be around. I’m surprised you don’t see how your presence brings the mood up in a room.”

Sherlock started to blush.

“And well… it doesn’t help that you’re a very handsome man,” Sherlock said.

“I don’t know about—“

“Don’t even finish that sentence. No wonder you miss the way people’s moods change around you when you don’t even notice the obvious looks you get when you simply walk into a room.”

“Can’t help but insult me when you compliment,” Lestrade laughed. “Sherlock… this is… a lot. I mean, I’m flattered, I’m…I don’t know, but this is so much to hear.”

Sherlock stiffened. Here it was, the rejection. And not that he said what he said expecting to be passionately kissed for his feelings and efforts, he did it to make a good man know he was good, but he realized that he needed to know where he stood with Lestrade. And it was not looking good.

“I, um, I suppose I should tell you how I feel, too. I’ve never had to jump to save your life, but… Well, I would hope you know you hold a special place in my heart.”

 _As a son, as a friend, as a colleague I do a lot for because you help with cases_ , Sherlock heard in his head.

“And well… I would be lying if I ever said I wasn’t ever interested. But I always assumed you weren’t interested in dating and what not. So maybe I pushed down some feelings to get over it. But anyway, I would, I would hope the time I’ve known you, you would have noticed all the things I’ve done for you was my way of saying I love you. Of course, asking for nothing in return expect your general well being.”

Sherlock didn’t expect that. He didn’t know what to do. He thought confessions ended up with kissing and passionate love making, but they were standing here awkwardly in Lestrade’s office. Though, maybe it was better this way, he still struggled with expressing himself emotionally. Instead, he reached out for Lestrade’s hand.

“I love you Lestrade, and whatever you think of yourself, good or bad, please do not forget that.”

Sherlock leaned in and gave Lestrade one simple, soft kiss. It was appropriate for the situation, and for them, to take it easy, to let the both of them process what was being said and shared. Lestrade kissed back, just as softly, but put his hand on Sherlock’s hip. When they stopped, they touched foreheads. Yes, this felt good. It was perfect, how it should be.

“How long have you felt this way, if I may ask?” Lestrade said.

“Since you got me clean.”

“Wow. And you held onto that for so long. Well then, we have a lot to make up for, don’t we?” he said with a smile.

"After I help you with this case, of course.” Sherlock said with a grin.

"Of course, of course," Lestrade said, feigning irritation, but Sherlock could feel the hand on his hip tighten.

**Author's Note:**

> I had this fic sitting in my drafts for a while, but was motivated to finish it for the Rare Pair Bingo bonus round.
> 
> Can you tell I hate writing up cases?
> 
> As usual, I welcome concrit, and the pointing out of typos/misspellings/grammar/inconsistencies/etc.


End file.
